


42 minutes left

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Future, Points of View, Romance, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-30
Updated: 2008-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian has 42 minutes and one last chance to get Justin back. Post-513.





	42 minutes left

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for the "42 minutes left" prompt at boys4all.  


* * *

What the fuck am I doing here.  
  
Don’t know what I’m doing here.  
  
Can’t believe I’m doing this. Sitting on a fucking plastic chair at the airport, waiting for his flight to take off.   
  
Waiting for my life to take off and just fly away.  
  
Pathetic. I’m pathetic.   
  
42 minutes till boarding time.   
  
He’s here somewhere, waiting just like me. Can almost feel his vibes. Have always been able to feel him before I saw him. Because… I feel differently when he’s in the same place.   
  
Still do. Couldn’t feel anyone or anything but him during that fucking lunch. I wasn’t hungry.   
  
_Missed me_? His face asked me bluntly, demandingly. He didn’t give a fuck about all the others. Ignored the laughing and the talking. The “Justin’s here for a visit” fuss. Just looked at me.   
  
_Terribly_.  
  
He never held back.   
  
He didn’t hide that he wanted me. He grinned into my face and let me know that there was no chance for me to get rid of him. Reached out and touched me. Never asked for permission.   
  
He said that he loved me. Just like that. Said it as if it was something you can just… say.   
  
_Terribly_.   
  
I couldn’t believe anyone would hand over their feelings on a plate so brutally. Uncompromisingly.  
  
I never talk about the way I feel. Don’t ever let anyone know how I really feel. What I think. What I like. What I care about.   
  
Perhaps that’s why no-one knows me.   
  
No-one but him.  
  
Why him.  
  
Terribly, I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t. I looked away.   
  
Always looked away.  
  
I knew I wasn’t the right man for him, from the very start. But why bother. Didn’t think that his “love” would turn into something solid. Guys adored my looks. My body. But not me. I wasn’t even there. There was no “me”.   
  
Never thought that someone could find me. Wasn’t supposed to be found. To be loved.   
  
Fuck Justin. I never wanted you to love me.   
  
I’m not uncompromising. I’m merely brutal.   
  
But you decided it was me. That was brutal too.  
  
42 minutes.  
  
I’ve always admired you. For being able to show what’s going on inside you. For standing up to fight for what you wanted.  
  
Me.  
  
Why me.   
  
When you were angry, you threw chairs across the room. You painted angry faces and cried in my arms and went all berserk turning “straight assholes into pussies”. You screamed and grabbed my arm hard until it hurt and pushed me down onto the floor.  
  
And I was angry too, perhaps more angry than you ever could’ve been. But I got drunk, drugged myself into oblivion and tried to hang myself.   
  
God I killed myself so many times. By pushing you away. Hurting you on purpose, ‘cause that was what hurt _me_ most. Letting you go.  
  
42 minutes.   
  
Letting you go.  
  
It hurt.  
  
Hurts. So much. You can’t imagine.   
  
42 minutes.  
  
I want to believe that there are always 42 minutes left, that I always have time, but I don’t. I’ve had five years, and I didn’t use them. I let them slip away. Just like you. And just like the last two years between us.   
  
Two years filled with nothing.  
  
Two years of blindness.  
  
Two years of… missing you… terribly…. god Justin, terribly. Everything is terrible without you. I’m so lost, and I’m a liar. I’m hungry, so hungry. I’m fucking starving.  
  
But I never learned how to eat.  
  
I never learned how to be happy.   
  
How dare you… make me want to be happy…   
  
You fucked up everything… my plans to die early and still beautiful, before all the anger and inability to take care of myself would show in my face. My plans to leave the world with one last big “fuck you”.   
  
I thought I could find peace dying alone. Never thought this life, living, would be worth it.   
  
Fucker.  
  
How dare you make it worth it.   
  
You think you can just come back… look at me… and make me hope. I don’t want to hope. I don’t want any of his, I don’t want this don’t want this don’t want this… don’t want… don’t… want…   
  
Oh fuck it, fuck it. I don’t want to die alone, I don’t want to _live_ alone, and yes, that’s why I’m here, it’s… why… you’re here…  
  
You don’t allow me an easy way out, never did, you've always made it as hard as possible.  
  
42 minutes. How many words can you say in 42 minutes.   
  
Not enough.  
  
I know that you know I’m here because you can always feel me when I'm around too. And we both know that if I don’t jump now, I never will.   
  
You give me one last chance. But you won’t come to find me.  
  
I have to find you this time.   
  
And I don’t have 42 minutes anymore, I don’t have anything… if you get on this plane…   
  
So I get up.  
  
I stand up… for what I want… never expected it to feel like this…  
  
Never expected to feel alive again.  
  
And I run, I run and knock over practically everyone who’s in my way, but I don’t care, don’t notice… in a second of panic I think it’s too late, but… there you are… you stare at me, alerted because of the desperation on my face, but I don’t even try to hide it because I’ve hidden everything you wanted, hoped to see for too long and so perfectly it lead us here…  
  
You get up and drop the magazine you’ve been holding but not reading, you don’t make a move and I’m starting to pant because I’m afraid that you’ll just disappear right before my eyes… I don’t feel safe until I’m holding you… finally… holding you…   
  
And it's so good, so... good... didn't realize my muscles were so sore... every single one... can't believe I survived without this, without you, can't believe... I survived.   
  
There’s salt on my lips, I swallow the warm drops, don’t know whether they’re mine or yours, and I hold you and hold you until I can be sure that you won’t disappear, never again, because the next time you’ll get on a plane, I’ll be right beside you.


End file.
